


Alternate Case: Restart The Heart

by SeptuVariest



Category: Princess Principal (Anime)
Genre: Blood Drinking, Canon parallels, Developing Relationships, Dubious Consent, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, Multi, Potential OT3, Predator/Prey, Ritual Sacrifices, Sexual Content, Soulmates AU, Vampire AU, who are we kidding they're soulmates in canon too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-05-03 18:53:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14575419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeptuVariest/pseuds/SeptuVariest
Summary: 'Princess' Charlotte knows her title is just a formality. She knows that her name is fake, and that she is a replacement that will be replaced. She is the latest victim of one of Albion's least savoury practices; the sating of an ancient vampire, part of the royal family's lineage. She knows she is nothing but food in Albion's eyes, but she is determined to not let this sway her from her goal. If she can survive, she has a chance at the throne.





	1. A Cold Open

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back!  
> A rather important note for this fic: even though their designs will be staying the same, Ange and Charlotte will be reffered to (in text, not speech) by their real names. This choice will make sense slightly later on in the story, even though they'll be referred to by their 'fake' names by the majority of the cast. This choice may also be changed later on in the story as the character's relationships change, but I'll be sure to make it very clear in the notes if this does.

"How are your studies, Charlotte?" From across the table, Ange's grandmother called out to her, pushing her spoon through the soup in front of her. Her eyes didn't bother to look up at her, somehow more interested in the ripples she was sending through the appetiser below. The two bourgeoisie sat alone at a gilded dining table, outfitted with velvet and mahogany dressings. Ange wasn't used to the furnishings of the Kingdom of Albion's flagship palace, still finding it's opulence excessive, even for someone who'd lived in similar conditions for ten years.

Ange still refused to respond to the name 'Charlotte', if only for a second. That moment of protest always gave her long enough to create an answer that wasn't mired in disgust. "They fare well, grandmother." She paused, realising she wasn't even being listened to. "I'm sure I will be a fine queen once my time comes." This, unsurprisingly, garnered the Queen's attention, and Ange managed a smile at this small victory. She watched as the Queen craned her head upwards, staring her in the eyes and trying to guess if she was being facetious or not; Ange's tiny rebellions were getting to her. The tired look in her eyes wasn't just from old age.

"I'm sure you will, Charlotte. You've always been such a strong woman, you're exactly what this country needs." The conversation passed without either woman making their true feelings known. It was out of a forced kindness that the Queen didn't mention the _true_ Princess Charlotte, but the presence of that fact could be easily felt in the air. After letting such a placated comment drift past her lips, the Queen's attention drifted back to her food, which was beginning to grow cold.

Ange too, returned to her food, happy to have the chance again to ignore the only other person in the room and pretend she was alone. She'd been served a well-seasoned, perfectly rare steak a few minutes ago and had left it untouched since then, afraid of the pulpy, bloody texture. She picked away at the vegetables instead, trying to ignore that she was expected to eat what was effectively a diorama of herself. She knew this meal was another part of the diet her grandmother was setting up for her - she appreciated how well-balanced and nutritious it was, but the tasteless ulterior motive behind it was more than obvious.

Ange had been brought back to the heart of London for her tenth 'Birthday'. In reality, it was the anniversary of the day she'd been adopted into the royal family; her real birthday had been forgotten long before that, even. Her previous Birthdays hadn't been celebrated like this, usually garnering only a pat on the head and a small pile of clothes from her more pleasant relatives. But again, it was painfully clear why this particular anniversary was being treated so specially.

Because this was the year she was going to be eaten.

Not a child in the Kingdom didn't know. The _'legend'_  of Princess Charlotte had spread even to America and the backwaters of Europe. It had been one-hundred and fifty years since the incident in question - long enough for most legends to descend into mythology - but the only thing keeping it alive was the fact that Princess Charlotte continued to feed. Every ten years, a new orphan would be chosen by the monarchy. A blonde, slim and beautiful orphan would be picked off the streets and adopted into the royal family. And in ten years, they would disappear and the cycle would start again. The royal family did it's best to keep it low-profile but the rumors spread quickly, and the cynicism of the middle-class saw through it with ease.

The idea of a vampire prowling the streets of London was outrageous to most, but every time a new hole opened up in the royal lineage, the chill that washed down the streets was palpable. The same cold air had run down Ange's spine too, when she was chosen ten years ago. The twelfth in a long line of orphans only related by their similar features, and identically awful fate.

Ange's own ten years under the sun were coming to a close, as well. In a matter of days, her Birthday would arrive, and she would begin living on borrowed time. She didn't intend to meet her end, however the odds were stacked. She had fought against the brainwashing of the high-class balls and lavish lifestyle, and had fought when she was almost married, and would fight when Princess Charlotte came to claim her life. If she could fend her off or even kill the beast she'd been raised to surrender herself to, then the throne was all hers.

The rest of the royal family was too afraid to claim the throne. Afraid that it would put a mark on their head unless they resort to the same grim methods the Queen had been using. The Queen's tentative reign, and life, persisted only through a bloody pact with the vampire that promised a corpse every ten years. The Queen's own father had been the one who drew this contract with the vampire, after besting it in combat, losing half a torso for his trouble. At the time he'd been praised as a hero for his bravery - and rightfully so - but after his death, the contract had become the jewel of a pyrrhic victory.

Time however, wouldn't be as forgiving for the Queen. Coming up to her own eightieth birthday, the Queen of Albion too, would soon have to come to terms with her own mortality. And that, more than anything, was Ange's ticket out of this hell. Holding back a vampire until her grandmother died, and then plucking the throne from her freshly deceased fingers before any of her relatives noticed. It was an outrageous, vertical wall of a hurdle.

She'd become more desperate to find her saving grace in recent days. Ever since moving to the capital, her search for some way of protecting herself from Princess Charlotte had intensified tenfold, and it was beginning to feel like a prison break. The silver crosses and stakes she'd hidden in her room had disappeared overnight. She hadn't even seen a clove of onion in weeks, let alone tasted one. And despite the glut of free rooms in the palace, Ange's bags had been moved to one lacking a mirror or any Catholic dressings. Ange hadn't made the effort to move, knowing that she would somehow find herself in an unrecognisable room once she awoke. She had considered running, as she had years before, but her pride made her stay her hand, just as the fear of her new grandmother had back then. But now, that fear had crystallised into a steely anger. Watching the woman she had been so afraid of become a pitiful old lady had convinced Ange she had a chance.

This unpleasant topic was the only thing going through Ange's head as she finally took a bite of the steak. As she'd expected, the tinge of blood hung between the fibres of beef, and despite the overall taste being rather palatable, Ange's gullet crawled as the meat slipped down it. She forced it down with the last dregs of the sparkling water she'd served herself.

"Grandmother," tired of forcing herself, Ange dropped her knife and fork onto the plate with a tiny clatter. It took effort to eat anything, but the meat looked like lead on her plate. She hadn't been feeling consciously scared, but the bile that she filled the toilet with on a daily basis told her she was more than petrified of the idea of being fattened up.

"Yes, Charlotte?" The Queen already knew what Ange was about to ask; that much was evident in her exasperated tone. There was no longer any desire to fight back - the two had fought more than their share of battles against each other, and were now too exhausted to continue, letting their relationship develop into a dry and uncomfortable cold war. The Queen herself had finished eating, and was now awaiting the main course, her cutlery crossed over a half-empty bowl.

"If I may be excused?" 

"Of course." The Queen's response came instantly.

Ange's chair screeched across the marbled floor, and she was out of the room in moments. She'd wasted enough time dawdling with her imposter of a grandmother, and her more important plans were running late.

 

Not far from the palace, sitting perched amongst a flock of pigeons, two cloaked figures waited out the early hours of the evening. One crouched infront of a compact telescope, fingering a set of pedals as the lenses switched in and out, covered entirely in a ruddy black canvas. The other, who wore only a thick, full-body leather coat, was busy loading a sniper rifle she'd assembled a few minutes earlier.

"Dorothy." The first called out from under the tarp, still paying attention to the scope. "If you could perhaps remove your necklace." A gloved hand poked out hesitantly, and pointed accusingly at the other woman. "It's making me rather uncomfortable."

Dorothy stopped operating the gun, and turned to face the pile of fabric, which the hand had already retreated inside of. "Haha, like I'm letting you catch me out again." Snickering at the figure shuffling around inside the tarp, Dorothy reached inside her cleavage and pulled out a silver cross on a thick chain, waving it in her accomplice's direction. "You mean this?" She teased as the tent began twitching, as though the very fabric was alive.

"Damn!--" The voice from inside the canvas swore, letting their tone fly out of control. "Put it away!" It squirmed about and then the hand appeared again, pointing a gun at Dorothy. Adopting a stronger hold on her own voice, she repeated herself. " _Put it away_ , at least."

"Woah, woah. Let's not compare guns, now." Bringing the sniper she'd prepared to bear on the black pile, Dorothy managed a smirk. "You know I'll win." Switching the chamber on the rifle, another flash of silver glittered in the humid evening light from inside the barrel. After a few seconds, Dorothy brought the rifle back up, switching the chamber back, assured of her own victory. She flicked the cross back inside her suit, and smiled as the other gun silently crawled back. "You're touchy today, Ange. It's cute." Contentedly returning to preparing the rifle, managing to somehow pull out even more accessories and gadgets for it, Dorothy kept a half-interested eye on the tent.

From inside, they grey-haired genius spy known as Ange Le Carré waited. "I'm not touchy." She corrected her fellow agent, sitting back as she finished configuring the lenses. Her voice became hushed as her the tips of her mouth slipped into a smile. "I'm excited."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This'll be a bit of an experiment - I might draw it on a bit longer by looking at canon scenes and stuff but for now I'll just get the stuff I wanted to write out of the way.  
> Mostly as a celebration of season 2, which is a fuckin blessing, I'll do my best to not be too self-indulgent. To be honest, this was all an excuse to write Kurotokage!Ange/Princess instead of Charlotte!Ange/Princess.  
> Shoutout to whoever sent the vampire!au ask to chickencurry, and his resulting fic, because that's what got me thirsty for some good vampire action. I'd also like to apologise for the amount of exposition in the very slow first chapter, but a bit of setup is always necessary for these kind of things, so I hope you'll understand.


	2. Options

The late autumn hours passed in general silence, the two spies staying still and quiet enough that the flock of crows they'd displaced when they had arrived had gradually returned, scratching about on the cobbled roof and occasionally pecking at Dorothy's heels or inspecting the grey canvas, much to it's inhabitant's chagrin. Every so often, Dorothy would make an off-colour statement about one of the servants that tottered around in the courtyard below them, and at one point almost fell asleep. Her boisterous nature only became worse once the guests started arriving, outfitted in extravagant dresses that were far too easy to make fun of. She stopped sharply however, once a certain man arrived. Aside from the crisp black of his hair, he stood out from the crowd in a full, creamy-white getup. Despite his eagerness to disrupt the colour-coding of the party, it seemed he wasn't the toast of it, and stayed content sticking to the edge of the party as the attendees filtered into the hall.

"The target's arrived. Dorothy, get ready." Orders came from under the tent, as the scope was centred on the man teetering around, making small-talk with whoever bothered to notice him.

"Yeah, I see him." Dorothy clicked her tongue, rolling her shoulders as she got up, scaring a dozen or so of the birds away. "Could see him a mile away. Well, just makes my job earlier. You want it now, or...?" Setting herself up at the rifle stand, she glanced over to her partner after taking the safety off.

"We'll wait until he's alone. We might want to take the body, depending."

"You mean  _you_ might want to take the body." Dorothy chided as she sat back from the rifle, getting ready for another long wait.

There was no reply.

"Come on, Ange. You're no fun. At least take off the cover so I can see your face." Not physically able to sit stationery in silence for another hour, Dorothy shuffled over to the weighted edge of the canvas and lifted it up, peeking inside. "The sun set twenty minutes ago. You're too cute to stay hiding under that thing all day." As soon as she spoke, she was shoved outside of the tent with a dejected 'humph'. "Pretty please?  _Charlotte?_ "

"Fine, if it'll stop you complaining." The cover was lifted up and pushed over to the side, revealing Ange Le Carré - or, more realistically, Princess Charlotte, considering the fangs she was having trouble hiding. Shivering as the cold of the night hit her, she gave Dorothy a grim look, already regretting having shed her skin. The rest of the crows departed after Charlotte showed herself, lifting off and fading immediately into the waxing black of the night.

"Oho, there she is!" Apparently not afraid of alerting the partygoers to their position, Dorothy was happy to patronise Charlotte with a tone she would normally only use with a child. "I was starting to think you'd invited me here just to ignore me." Dorothy was tempted to run up and hug her, but held her ground as Charlotte's tense silhouette warned her that it wouldn't be a good idea.

"You're here for a good reason, Dorothy." Charlotte gradually folded up the canvas and filed it away inside the burlap rucksack she'd brought along. "It'd be a problem if Control figured out I can't kill." She seated herself on the cobbled plates again, looking through the scope to check if that distraction had caused them to lose their target - fortunately, that wasn't the case: he was still standing in the same corner he had been for the last few minutes, occasionally picking apéritifs from plates as the servants brushed to and fro.

Dorothy was looking, too. "Christ, the royal family isn't too popular, huh?" Wondering why Prince Joseph, the crown Prince of Albion, was being ignored, Dorothy shuffled across the roof towards Charlotte. "Let me see." Insisting on the telescope, she huddled up to Charlotte, pressing her face against her pouting partner's.

"What does it matter?" Charlotte tried to wave Dorothy off, but didn't stop her as she wrapped her arms around her, too tired of fending off her advances to even bother anymore. In the pitch darkness, she could have almost forgot it was Dorothy curled around her, if she hadn't been wearing the necklace. "He'll be even less popular when he's dead."

Dorothy laughed. "That's pretty grim, even for you." Keeping a blind eye on their target, she was intent on getting a reaction, even if that meant she had to squeeze it out of Charlotte.

 "If you're going to hold onto me like that," trying to avoid calling it a 'hug' - which it certainly was - Charlotte tipped her head nervously away from Dorothy's chest. "Please get rid of that... thing." Feeling the particular burn of the cross on her cheek, Charlotte would have tried to get rid of it herself by now, but that would have meant falling straight into Dorothy's hands.

"If you take me out to The Lake afterwards." Dorothy fished around again, retrieving the trinket. "You owe me that much already, just for dragging me out like this. I had so much planned for this evening."

"We went there last week..." Charlotte scowled, and then sighed, scooping her arms out from inside Dorothy's embrace in an attempt to try and retain at least some of her mobility. "It's a deal. But I hardly imagine you had any other plans than drinking yourself under the table at some pub." Charlotte side-eyed Dorothy, and watched as her face flushed red, with masked amusement. "I'd be correct, then."

"No different than getting smashed at some fancy restaurant. Which I will be doing. And then you'll have to drag me home." Dorothy's outraged blushing transformed into a smirk as she tossed the necklace away. She overjudged the throw, however, and it bounced across the roof and into the shrubbery far below. "Ah... Could you maybe--" Dorothy found herself cut off as the barrier between them was removed, and Charlotte moved just a little bit too close. "Ange?"

"Now I've got you where I want you." Charlotte advanced relentlessly, a spark in her eyes. She followed Dorothy as she failed to escape, pinning her down with a hand on her exposed hip, covering a set of scars engraved into it with the palm. "I'll teach you a lesson for getting too close to me." She bore her fangs, and they glittered just slightly in the moonlight.

Having been thrown onto her back by Charlotte's sudden advance, Dorothy pushed at her face, trying to keep the fangs away from her. "Ange! Not now!" Dorothy began scratching across the roof, trying to find the rifle she'd naively abandoned earlier, a very genuine fear in her eyes. "I swear to god, if you even so much as--" As she scrabbled across the roof, she caught their target out of the corner of her eye, completely alone on a balcony. She was tempted to call out to him for help, still gritting her teeth as she moved through the motions of a close-quarters dance with Charlotte. "Ange! The target!"

This was all Charlotte needed to snap out of it. Letting go of Dorothy and almost patting her down as she finished crawling towards her gun, the cold atmosphere returned at the drop of a hat. "Tch. Bad timing." Charlotte suddenly looked more like a child refused a toy than a spy, or anything more dangerous. The tension collapsed into an awkward atmosphere more akin to a wet blanket. "My apologies. That was a joke from the Black Lizard Planet." She returned to her perch at the spyglass, giving Dorothy a nod after checking the Prince's position.

"Yeah, sure... An expensive... Fucking joke... Can't you control yourself for two seconds?" After pulling herself to her feet, Dorothy hissed as she armed her rifle, catching her breath and trying to calm her heart so she could aim properly. "If I miss this it's your own damn fault."

"Not yet." Charlotte held up a balled fist as her ears perked up. "The Orchestra is playing Aiden Ball's Symphony II. Wait for the climax." Charlotte managed a smile as she recalled the hundred-or-so years of memories with the song. "Only a few more phrases." She began bobbing her head in time with the beat, mouthing the song silently.

Dorothy wanted to laugh at Charlotte's sudden musical acumen, but she far too caught up in getting the shot right to bother.

"Now." The fist lunged downwards, and Dorothy pulled the trigger perfectly on que. True to Charlotte's plan, the shot was comfortably veiled by the ringing of an entire orchestra.

Even if there was no noise when the bullet was launched, it's exit from the barrel filled the roof with a deep 'thachunk' that barrelled Dorothy backwards, almost threatening to hurl her over. A second later, Joseph's body stalled and then collapsed. A breath that had been held for three hours released, and only a moment was spent in silent mourning. "Thank God..." Even it wasn't her mission, Dorothy was still hung up on hitting her target; a matter of her own dignity in front of Charlotte. "We going?" Before Dorothy could even react, Charlotte was moving.

"Hold on to the rifle. We don't have time to wait around." Not mentioning the incident that had almost ruined the mission, Charlotte had already packed up, throwing the rucksack into Dorothy's arms as she got ready for a good run-up.

Dorothy did as she was told, fastening her arms around the baggage. "I know I look delicious, but next time, bring a steak instead, okay? Maybe it'll do your dirty work for you, too." She grimaced, preparing herself for the impact.

Looping her own arms around Dorothy's waist, Charlotte leapt from the roof, away from the party and towards the Thames. Instead of plunging into the water, however, two slim, draconic wings sprouted from Charlotte's back before they could fall, and the pair began sailing through the air. A light screech could be heard in the air as Dorothy's legs flailed about below.

"Dangling a girl over the Thames isn't a terribly polite way to thank her, you know..." Dorothy mumbled with closed eyes as the two came closer to the ground. "Especially after that last stunt." Being treated unpleasantly close to luggage, Dorothy felt Charlotte's arms cinch her up as her arms grew tired of carrying her.

"Which way is The Lake, again?"

Through gritted teeth, Dorothy smiled, pointing into the horizon after opening her eyes for just a second. "Ah, shouldn't we go somewhere to get changed, first?"

"Check inside the rucksack." Charlotte blushed slightly as Dorothy gingerly opened the bag up, to find two carefully folded and ironed dresses stashed at the bottom.

"Nice to see you still know how to treat a girl, all things considered."

 

 It was already difficult getting to sleep in a room that had all the charm of a slab of stone. It'd didn't help, then, that Ange's thoughts were swaying closer and closer to that of tomorrow night - a topic she'd been trying to ignore, but never seemed to be able to. The night she'd be dissected upon the very same bed she was trying to sleep on.

She'd been refused a phial of holy water by the Priest at the Palace Cathedral - the charity of the Church had been one of her final resorts, not wanting to have to resort to begging, or at least not begging from the Church that she'd watched choke her country. Calling her patriotism to doubt, the Father's priestly countenance had immediately lapsed into an outraged, almost disgusted version of themself that Ange had always seen on the edges of his face.

Scolding Ange and telling her countless times that _'Wounding the vampire would break the contract and bring ruin to the country.'_ \- even though the true terms of the pact had been lost when the former King had died - the Father's insufferable insisting had become unbearable once he told Ange to _'Stay quiet and await your reward in Heaven'_.

Ange felt the noose tighten around her neck as she remembered his words. Was a peaceful eternity really all that awaited her? She couldn't accept that. She'd rather see the aristocracy torn apart before letting them push her into the dark. They were just as crooked as they were a hundred years ago, when Princess Charlotte was still chewing away at the slimy innards of their society. Surrendering them to her starving mouth was, in her permanently fear-addled eyes, a justice she would be happy to dole out.

Tangled in her sweat-soaked sheets, Ange ran a hand through her matted her for the dozenth time as she tried to recount word-for-word the mythos she'd read on that certain demon. It occurred to her then, that there was no way out. Thanks to the interference of her Grandmother, the Church, and the fear that had been trained into her for ten years, she was paralyzed and vulnerable. With less than twenty-four hours before her own execution, something inside the young Princess shattered, and she decided to make a deal.

Her own soul, for the soul of her country.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know i have to move the plot forward but the idea of vampire!ange/dorothy is a little bit too powerful?


End file.
